


Pandemonium of the Forsaken

by thewildhunt



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe, Books, Books-video game crossover, Canon - Video Game, Gen, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-05 05:52:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14037570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewildhunt/pseuds/thewildhunt
Summary: The precinct at Kaer Morhen must band together to find Ciri, who's missing and has left behind cryptic clues, while also dealing with scheming friends and powerful foes.





	1. Chapter 1

“You look spent, Geralt.” Vesemir said, startling Geralt. He pulled a rusty chair in-front of Geralt’s desk in the office and sat down. A few moments of silence followed, interrupted only by Vesemir sliding a coffee cup towards Geralt.

“Don’t worry, son,” Vesemir said solemnly, like he didn’t believe a word of what he was saying. “I’ve seen Ciri grow alongside everyone else. She's a resourceful child. She’ll be okay.” He paused thoughtfully.

Geralt shoved aside the papers piling on his desk forcefully. “I hope she is.” He said gruffly, downing the scalding coffee in four big gulps.

 

Everyone’s head turned as Yennefer walked past, her high-heeled boots clacking purposefully against the tiled floor and a slight scent of lilacs and gooseberries whisking in her wake. She tossed her thick, curly mane of black hair once, internally grinning at the effect she had on everyone. She paused outside Geralt’s office for a second, then inhaling sharply, she pushed the door open and let the cool, air-conditioned breeze hit her face.

“There’s a message for Geralt. I wanted to deliver it to him.” She said, her heart beating wildly and desperately hoping it wasn’t showing on her face.

Vesemir got up, slowly, pointedly, and went out of the door.

“Hey, Yen. Sit down.” Geralt said, turning his head away slightly.

Yennefer did, and looked directly at his face. It had been some time since she had done that.

He had aged, so, so much, and his completely white hair was a part of it all.

_When it started, I had wanted to run my hair through the same hair, so badly…_

She closed her eyes, pulling herself together.

“I came here to say that we’ve found nothing more- in the bedrooms, the laptop, the trunks and the wardrobe. No fingerprints at all, except for the perspiration mark on the note.” She said. “We can’t do anything with the perspiration mark, of course, but we’ve tried some guesswork and come to the conclusion that it might not be a perspiration mark as we first thought, but, uh…” she trailed, looking at him, peering out of the window. The evening sun-rays were beautiful.

“Hmm?” He gestured her to continue.

“It might be a tear.” She said softly, looking at him with her carefully-trimmed eyebrows raised.  
He looked blank.

_Men…_

“It was a tear from the eye, Geralt. Ciri might’ve been crying when she wrote that note. Of course we couldn't properly determine the salinity of the specimen but from what we could gather it had traces of- Oh damnit, Geralt! Ciri left on her own, you know it, too!” She said exasperatedly.

“No.” Geralt was stubborn. “She would’ve come to me, first, or you, second, or Triss, third, if she had any problem. I don't believe a word of that theory. She did not leave on her own.”

“But… Geralt. It’s not a game of guesswork!"

“And I don’t intend on making it one. I get my daughter back, or I go get her myself.” His rough voice rang with a determination.

“I think you forget she’s my daughter as well!” Yen said, rather angrily, getting ahead of herself.

Geralt leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and looked directly at her. His scarred face, his unshaven beard, his confounded eyes… all relayed a single message.

“Okay.” She said softly, averting her age towards the window of the small office.

“Geralt? Where are you crashing tonight?” Yennefer enquired after a brief pause, and was met with silence. Then, “I’m going out with Triss.” Geralt said in a steely voice, looking at his ex-partner for some reaction.

Yennefer knew this, of course, and smiled. Her eyelashes shook a little, with anger more than anything. _How dare he!_  
“Well! That’s great. At least I won’t have to worry about you going to Lambert’s and ending up in undignified places.”

Triss Merigold.

Yennefer felt hurt, and in some ridiculous sense, betrayed. Triss and Yen had been best-friends, graduating from the same academy or Aretuza from the Thaenedd Isle, and then Yen had landed herself in the police force, while Triss went on to become a mortician in Novigrad. Then they had met each other again, now both of them in the same place, pining after the same man in similar jobs.

Yen got up suddenly, trying to control her feelings. “I have to go, Geralt. Bye.”

Geralt sighed and started, as if expecting that. “Yen-“ but the response he got was the loud slam of the old wooden door, which conveyed each and every emotion perfectly.

He closed his eyes and leaned back.

An ironic smile made way on his face. After all these years, Yen still hadn’t understood that he had, from the moment they met, belonged entirely to her.

_Women…_

 

****

 

Everyone saw pretty Yennefer Of Vengerberg exit Geralt’s office, looking on the verge of a sadness which she made look ethereal. Her long lashes brushed, almost slightly, the tears forming on the brink of perfectly lined violet eyes, and her hair swaying in accordance with her body. A sweet scent of lilacs wafted again, enchanting them, making themselves silently ask a question that they’ve been asking since the dawn of time.

What was a lady like Yen doing with a disaster like Geralt?

Yennefer, like everyone else hoped with all her hope that at-least god knew the answer, because she sure as hell did not.

“Sheesh.” Lambert remarked to Eskel from across his desk as he watched her go. “Shoot me when I fall in-love like that, will you?”

“Excuse me! What do you mean, ‘fall in love like that’!” Kiera Metz burst from a corner of the station, throwing a half-empty cup of coffee across at Lambert, and Eskel laughed, dodging.

 

****  
“The pink neon light complimenta your scar, Geralt. You look threateningly adorable in it.”

Triss blew a puff of smoke in the other direction, shifting a little in her perfectly-fitting uniform, and braided red-hair, with small curls escaping from the sides.

“You think they took Ciri away? And Yen thinks it’s a tear?” Triss confirmed once more, taking a sip of her cocktail.  
“Who’re ‘they’ exactly, Geralt?” She added, and it sounded like a challenging question to Geralt. He wanted to answer, but he couldn’t. Because he himself didn’t have any answers.

They were seated in a run-off-the-mill diner which was open all the 24 hours. Dandelion’s, it was called, after the local wailing bard, and the owner Dandelion.

“I wouldn’t disagree with Yen.” Triss said in a matter-of-fact voice when Geralt didn’t comment. He looked up, slightly startled, remembering the vehement vibes that he got from Yen whenever he mentioned Triss.

“Oh, don’t give me that look!” She laughed, twirling a piece of red hair in her fingers. “Yen probably hates me right now, but we’ve been friends, way back. I would trust her with my life.”  
Geralt looked down again, staring hard at the beautifully decorated piece of cheesecake in-font of him.

“Merigold! And the Wolf!” Dandelion called loudly when the last of the customers had left, and Geralt winced. He looked especially in a good mood today, and that would mean an endless night of bad poetry and a lot of crying. Triss looked at him, smiling.

“Where’s the Raven?” He asked when he arrived at their table, with four glasses and a bottle of wine.

“She went home early.” Geralt lied. He wasn’t sure where Yen was, but he knew that the most probable place where Yen would go was home.

“I’m not saying I’ll miss her. I mean, she would stab me to death with her heels if it came to that, but I sure want her to-”

“Get a hint, Dandelion, and sit down.” Geralt roughly pulled on Dandelion’s arms and pulled him into the seat next to him.

“Pris!” Dandelion called, and his suave, blonde girlfriend Priscilla slid into the seat next to Triss, removing her apron and throwing it on the floor. She had an amazing voice and did shows in the restaurant, and occasionally helped to run it, too. The entire eatery was run only by the couple, and how they managed it was beyond Geralt, given the fact that he’d never seen anyone so laid back as Dandelion.

“Where’s Yen?” She asked, and Geralt groaned.

****

 

“It could be the Rats.” Dandelion suggested, downing his second cup of wine. “After all, she did spend a good part of her youth with them. They’re a strong and running underground group, and they could’ve gotten to her.”

“But why after so many years? Why now? Why suddenly?” Geralt stabbed his plate thoughtfully, his head resting on his other hand. It was a dense night outside, the kind of night which pushed everyone inside their homes and made them draw their covers tight upon their heads.

_Ciri…where are you?_

“One of the Rats, she goes by the name of Mistle, Ciri was involved with her.” Triss said, leaning back. “They did some… things together. Ciri had a whole list of cybercrime espionage against her but we were able to discern it since she was a minor and was granted amnesty.

“It very well could be they felt… betrayed? And decided they wanted revenge.”  
“Ciri was quite young when that happened. She’s an adult now. What’s to say the Rats haven’t disbanded yet?” Geralt argued.

“Anywho, I think it’s a good lead. Track the Rats. Disbanded or not, they might be able to help.” Priscilla said, taking a sip from her cup. “They’re a huge part of her, and might be able to predict her next moves. Even tell you something you don’t know.”

Geralt didn’t like the thought of it, but he agreed.

 

******

 

When Geralt opened the door of his apartment, he hadn’t known what to expect. Yen sitting on the dining table eating the leftover cake, maybe. Ciri rushing up to hug him like always, screaming and explaining that she never really went away anywhere.

What he certainly did not expect was a familiar woman dressed in all-black overalls, with brown pigtails, sitting and drinking tea on the dining table.

“Hey, hey, White Wolf.” She said, smiling and putting down her cup of tea.

“Phillipa!” He exclaimed, more angry than startled. “It’s 3 in the fucking morning. How did you even get in here?”

“Nice to see you too, old friend. Quite a selection of loose tea you got there. I have to say, ‘Raspberry Bark and Cinnamon’ won the competition of ‘Choose from 86 different flavours of tea.’”

“You counted ‘em?” He asked amusedly, sitting cautiously on the sofa, away yet not far from the dining table.

“Damn right, I did.”

“Yennefer loves them. Or loved them.”

“She dead?”

“Just moved out. Temporarily.”

“Aah. I should’ve figured. She was absent from our...meeting today and naturally, I was concerned.”

Gerald snorted. “Sure you were.”

There was some silence as he allowed Phillipa to finish her tea. The apartment was still dark, but he could see her face from and make out enough from the white glow of the bulb from the kitchen. Phil was, as usual, dressed in her unusually daring necklines, complete with thigh-high boots and a pair of slacks.  
“So…” She ventured, playing with the loop of the teacup. “How’s Ciri’s case coming along?”

“Just as usual: None of your business.”

She laughed.”You’re just as idiotic as ever. It’s adorble.”

“Why are you here, Phil? It’s clear you don’t care about Yen.”

“I’m here because I want help, in exchange for help, Geralt.”

Geralt scoffed. “Sure.”

“I need your help to find Fringilla Vigo.”

Geralt looked stunned.

“Ah yes! The same woman who wasn’t quite Yen, yet you pursued her anyway-”

“Alright, Phillipa. Stop.” Geralt massaged his temples. Phil always got on his nerves, no matter how friendly they tired to keep it.

Fringilla Vigo, a Nilfgaardian officer, was a vivacious woman who had resembled a short and sturdy Yennefer, yet only from afar…

“Get out of it, Geralt. I need to find Fringilla.” Phil yelled, somewhat frustatedly.

“For what, Phil? Why should I help you after all you did?” Geralt leaned back, and closed his eyes, rested his neck on the soft leather couch, which was a foolish momentous decision, since Phillipa had been known to shiv men and women in the gut with artfully hidden knives at any given points of time.

“Because I know Djikstra. You know of my relations with him. And you also know how important his participation in finding Ciri will be. You just don’t know where to find him.” He could hear Phillipa’s malicious smile through her voice. A deal with the scheming lady had a double price, the bloodier and damning part of which was usually hidden away. Anger sparked through exhaustion, and he’d had enough.

He got up suddenly, startling Phillipa who got up as well. Phillipa went to extra mile of picking up the butter knife and swinging violently towards Geralt, for self-defence, of course, but in the dark she felt something grab her hands and put it’s entire weight on her, and she slammed back towards the wall. In surprise, she dropped the knife, and Gerald kicked it away with his foot.

“Been drinking some Merlot with Triss, I see.” Phillipa noted, feeling his breathe and lip-gloss mark on his cheek, as Geralt pinned her to wall, his grip tightening. “It doesn’t take much for you men to bounce between women, does it?” She spat in disgust.

“I’m tired of your manipulation, Phil.”

“Tired as you may be of it, you wouldn’t be able to get by without it.”

She brought her knee forcefully on Geralt’s shin, making him wobble. It was she needed to swing and pull his leg, making him fall on the floor. In a flash she was sitting upon him, the butter-knife back in her hand, and lay it against his throat. Gerald however, still hadn’t let go of her other hand and was stretching it rather painfully behind her back.

“I expect you to find her. Just find her. Give me a location. That is all I ask. If my suspicions are correct she’s been taken prisoner by Emhyr for treason.” Her lip trembled in acute pain.

“Fuck you, Phillpa.”

“Then you may kiss goodbye to your dear Djikstra.” She dug the knife a little further.

Gerald cursed. It was true, he needed the damn spy and his entire team to find the Rats. It was true, he didn’t know where he was. And now, since Phil was involved, she would make sure Geralt never found him, not even a single trace of him, until her work was done.

He sighed. If Yen was present, she would kill him, but only after Ciri and Triss each had killed him, as well. You might as well make a deal with the Devil’s Grandfather if you made a deal with Phillipa.

“You want me to fuck around with Emhyr? After all I did to get Ciri out of his cluthces… He’ll kill me!”

Phil smiled. “Exactly.”


	2. 2

Dawn found Geralt and Phillipa sitting on the floor of the apartment, facing each other. Geralt ran his fingers along the knifed wound, and Phillipa massaged her hand ruefully.

 

“You drive hard bargain, Miss Eilhart. I’ll find Fringilla.” Geralt said, rather bitterly, admitting defeat.

 

Before Phillipa could open her mouth, however, he cut her off. “But if something happens to Ciri before that, you won’t see light of another day.”

 

“My, my, didn’t take you to be the poetic kind.”

 

“Nothing poetic about when I shoot you and watch your blood flow, Phil.” 

 

There was silence as the sun creeped through the blinds. 

 

“Don’t you think that Ciri actually ran away? And that maybe it’s about time you stopped interfering in her life?” Phillipa drew her legs near her, and curled up.

 

“No.” Geralt answered curtly. 

 

“She isn’t ever your _daughter,_ daughter. You and Yen…She sees you both as parents…and then Triss as her sister, I’d wager…Must be awkward for the kid.”

 

“Angling for a fivesome? Or do you wanna join in as the third aunt?”

 

“You understand we’re not a pack of wolves you can just drive away from her with your heroism?”

 

“Sure you are. And yes I can, if the need arises.”

 

Phillipa laughed, and then sighed. 

 

“Why did Yen bolt this time?” She asked, rather amusedly, watching Gerald scrunch his face in obvious agony.

 

Gerald looked up, looking at Philipa, with her brown hair fanned along her shoulders and her already showy neckline slipping further and further down.

 

“Triss.” Was his short response, and they both knew it was a lie. The entire thing was starting to come undone even before Triss Merigold’s arrival, and blaming the redhead wasn’t dignifying, but was definitely an easier way out.

 

“Want to have a chat about women and their feelings? Feeling upto it?” Phil asked mockingly, playing with the hem of her boots.

 

“Women and feelings is the last thing I’ll talk to you about.” He snapped, and got up. From the corner of his eyes he saw Phil grab the knife again in panic and scoffed. 

 

“I don’t have the energy for another fight, Eilhart. Get out of my house.” He said, and turned towards the bathroom.

 

He sat in there for two hours. Two hours in hot, scalding water, hoping an epiphany would come to him. _Rats, Djikstra, Ciri…_

 

_Fringilla…_

 

When he came out, he found out that the window to his bedroom was open. He also found out that the last of the bread had been eaten, and the milk (just two days past it’s expiry) had been thrown in the dustbin. 

 

He also discovered a plate of cheese and crackers on the table with the note ‘breakfast’ written next to it. 

 

He sighed. 

 

****

 

 

 

 

“Find Fringilla? Geralt, _are you out of your goddamn mind?!”_ Only Lambert dared voice his opinion amongst everyone in the meeting. 

 

Yen, in particular, looked stoic. But perhaps that was because she was worrying out of her mind about Ciri.

 

“Lambert, calm down.” Kiera hissed sharply. “You’re pretending as if he’s about to plug headfirst into a volcano!”

 

“ _THAT’S BECAUSE HE IS!”_ Lambert motioned wildly, his incredulous tone rising. 

 

“I hate Lambert, but I agree with him.” Yen spoke nonchalantly, trying not to laugh at his antics. 

 

“I hate you too, but thank you!” He was still wild with anger, and he swung on Geralt. 

 

“I thought finding Ciri was our priority?” Eskel asked, watching Geralt carefully. There was something he was hiding, something he was masking beneath as his emotional unavailability, but Eskel had come to know him well enough to know that beneath his tag of ‘emotionlessness’, Geralt was almost always internally screaming.

 

“It is. Don’t get me wrong.” He spoke shortly, and refused to explain further. 

 

“Then where the hell did _Fringilla Vigo_ come from, Geralt?” Triss almost flew out of her seat. 

 

When Vesemir came into the meeting room a few minutes later withseven coffee cups, he almost poured them on himself from all the screaming and arguing. 

 

“I’m old and have a weak heart, lads. Maybe we can discuss this in the old fashioned way?” Vesemir said angrily.

 

“He wants to find Fringilla! And he won’t tell us why!” Lambert almost screamed again, until Kiera pulled him down and kept him glued to his seat again. 

 

“It’s the White Wolf of Rivia of talking, children. We better listen.” Vesemir mocked them, sliding them the cups of the coffee.

 

Geralt looked at Vesemir like he’d been betrayed. “ _You!_ Of all people!” 

 

And hence continued the discussion for another two hours.

 

***

 

Geralt came out of the meeting room frustrated and hungry. Lambert had used everything foul in vocabulary, enriching other’s as well, while Eskel had, for the first time, admitted that Geralt was a potential disappointment. 

 

To find Ciri was the priority, and even the idea to divert their resources into finding a Nilfgaard deserter was preposterous, even more so because she had been, at one point, Geralt’s lover.

 

He heard the familiar clacking of boots behind him, trying to catch up, and he braced himself for the personal outpouring from Yen, but she brushed past slowly, allowing him to have a whiff of lilac and gooseberries, and giving him enough time to hear her whisper, “Tell Phil I’ll find her.”

 

This left Geralt perpetually startled and even more angry. He’d just spent three hours of his morning hungry and fighting like kindergarteners, only to culminate into this. 

 

He sighed silently, watching the curly raven hair and the small skirt swing before him determinedly. 

 

***

 

Yen stood outside The Aretuza, on the Thaenned Isle owned by Margarita Laux-Antille. It was a sort of an arcade, an academy, a place for training for girls who were abused and abandoned and left on the streets. 

 

 

“Tissaia would be proud of me, huh?” Said a voice behind her.

 

Yen turned to find the familiar head of blonde hair.

 

“Rita!” Yen hugged her friend. It had been years since she had been here. It was in this very building that Yen had spent a few of her years.

 

“Come in, Yen.” 

 

 

***

 

“The idiot won’t confess, but I saw a cut on his throat. A knife cut.” Yen explained. “This sudden desire to track down Fringilla… I’d guess it would be the last thing on his mind.”

 

“Phil is upto some antics again. Probably because Djikstra is involved with Geralt somehow.” Margarita took a sip from her now-cold coffee cup, meditating hard.

 

“Phil was always ambitious. And lovely. Cruelly so, too. She could ruin the world, but…” Rita shrugged. “She’s a genius, you know.”

 

Yen sighed, watching the window, where, outside, it had started to rain. It was a cruel sort of rain, water which seeped not only through your clothes but your skin, bones, blood, and freeze your heart.

 

_Ciri, where are you?_

 

“Anyway, you’re here to find Fringilla, aren’t you?” Rita asked, setting her cup down and shifting in her chair. The inside of the academy was that of a rich, mediaeval castle, with tapestries and banisters and spires, and a fireplace which had been lighted. It was warm and comforting, Aretuza, no matter the situation.

 

“Fringilla is a Nilfgaardian, Yen.” Rita said, more of a warning than a reminder. 

 

“And I, from Vengerberg.” Yen said, and paused. The flames cackled a little brighter, a little hotter.

 

***

 

“I watched the kid grow up, too. She’s like my little sister!” Lambert raged, as Keira and Eskel tried to calm him down.

Vesemir lounged on the desk, watching the three of them argue and talk.

 

“I remember she once broke her elbow and slept through the night.” Eskel remembered fondly, unconsciously touching his scarred face. 

“And when she got that scar, she’d learnt how to use makeup and she’d put it on my face, as well.”

 

Kiera fingered the hole on the rim of her shirt, her blonde hair carelessly pinned back. “I remember her fighting and cursing, really. Never saw one more truly punk-rock girl.”

 

“From you delightful reminisces, it would seem like she’s dead.” Vesemir said with some difficulty. 

 

“Remember the time Triss put eyeliner on her and told us to watch out for her lady pa-” Lambert started, but stopped after a threatening look from Vesemir. 

 

“Who’s Fringilla again?” Eskel asked Keira, who was busy disassembling the parts of a pen. 

 

“She’s an officer, from Nilfgaard. Phillipa and Margarita and Triss knew her, and they’d insisted she joined them for some peace-keeping ‘Lodge’ with one of her other comrades, Assire van Anahid.” She explained. “When Geralt was out finding Ciri in Nilfgaard, he knew her, I guess.”

 

There was a pause as everyone considered the other, unspoken part. 

 

It was raining outside, and Kaer Morhen was starting to look bleakly autumnal on account of the rains and the cold winds.

 

Eskel and Lambert exchanged a look, and looked outside at the lighting and the swaying trees.

 

_Ciri, where are you?_

 

_**_

“Yen sent me these.” Triss explained the presence of a file as Geralt sat down opposite to her. He had been waiting to come back to the diner since morning. The scent of pizza made his stomach growl. He hadn’t had any food since the graciously laid cheese and crackers. 

 

“Where is she, anyway?” Danelion appeared behind him, carrying yet another bottle of wine.

 

“She went to Novigrad, then took a train to Thaenedd.” She explained, flipping through the sheets. 

 

“She’s in the isles? _Now?_ ” Geralt asked, thunderstruck. “Vilgefortz is on the loose!” 

 

“She’s Yennefer. She can defend herself.” Triss said.

 

“Need I remind you of the time that bastard tortured her?!” 

 

There was a sinister silence as everyone looked out and about.

 

“I would call her, but I suspect she’s blocked my number.” Geralt said.

 

Dandelion snorted.

 

“That’s good and all, Geralt, but look,” Triss twisted the file around, and him and Dandelion leaned over it. “These pictures are… well, they were snapped by a Nilfgaardian spy in Redania. Fringilla is this is dressed in a men’s suit. Right?”

She flipped them over, and a fresh page of pictures stared back at them. 

Geralt winced. 

 

Fringilla was chained, and beaten up. The picture showed her bruised face.

 

“She was captured 8 hours later. Reports say she was caught prancing in the main Redanian square in broad daylight. But…look at her attire.” Triss pointed.

 

“She’s wearing a summer-dress. Which means…” 

 

“Wait- she could’ve changed clothes! Even deserters need some fresh change in a while!” Dandelion said.

 

“No…” Geralt mumbled. “Fringilla is smart…if she could cover her tracks of association with the Lodge, this is not how she would’ve gotten captured…You’re telling me she was out and about in daylight when just 8 hours before she was running away from spies?”

 

Triss and Dandelion exchanged looks, but didn’t say anything.

 

“The summer-dress… could it be a doppler?”

 

“Don’t be silly, Geralt. Dopplers are practically _extinct!”_

 

“This isn’t the real Fringilla, that I’m sure off.”

 

“Then where the hell is the real one?!” Triss snapped, slamming her palms on the table.

 

“I’m sick, and I’m tired, and I want Cirilla back!”

**Author's Note:**

> The Rats are included because I'm attached to them and I also refuse to have them only as Ciri's character development.


End file.
